Our Uncle Peter changed a lot of our dog-money into nickles so it would jingle. We sounded like cow-bells. It felt rich. Our Uncle Peter held us very tight by the hands all the way. He said he was afraid we might step into something wet and sink.
It had been Wednesday when we went away. It was only Thursday when we got home. It seemed later than that.
Our Mother was very glad to see us. So was our Father.
The Tame Crow flew down out of the Maple Tree and sat on Carol's head.
Our Tame Coon came out of the hole under the piazza and sniffed at our heels.
The posie bed in front of the house was blue with violets. The white Spirea bush foamed like a wave against the wood-shed window.
In spite of our absence nothing seemed changed.
We gave our Father a dollar of our money to buy some Tulips. We gave our Mother a dollar to spend any way she wanted to. We put the rest of it in a book. It was a Savings Bank Book that we put it into.
"For your old age," our Father said.
Our Father's eyes had twinkles in them.